


Her Pretty Little Face Stopped Me In My Tracks

by DinosaurTheology



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Hearing Voices, Love, Serial Killers, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: She must not, cannot, will not. She doesn't want to.





	Her Pretty Little Face Stopped Me In My Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> So, as a long time Archie reader (on and off at least) Riverdale is my kind of trashy and I love it. Also, after seeing episode three, I'm pretty sure that Betty is a serial killer and I love that too. Get down with your bad self, girl. A little exploration of what I wish was her dark side.

Betty likes watching Veronica sleep. She winces even thinking it. The whole thing justs sounds so... creepy. But she doesn't mean it in a Twilight, Edward Cullen, stalkeriffic kind of way. People were naturally hardwired to enjoy pretty, graceful, well-proportioned things, after all, and Veronica is a prime example of all three traits. How could Betty, or anyone for that matter, resist the visual feast presented by those lustrous, dark curls, the rise and fall of perfect breasts how moonlight plays on her skin's tawny silk tapestry?

In short? Girl had it going on in a big way.

Maybe that's why Betty's fingers find their way across the pillow seemingly of their own accord to tangle firmly, helplessly, hopelessly in Veronica's hair. She doesn't mean to, wouldn't have dared, couldn't resist. They linger ensnared until she crawls upward out of slumber with a languid yawn.

"What's going on? Is it morning? I don't wanna go to school yet, Mom."

"It's not morning, and it's summer vacation."

"Then why'd you wake me up? And why are you petting my head?"

"I, er..." Betty stammers, struggling to find some way to explain what's going on. "I..." She bites the bullet and dives on it--better than just babbling like an idiot and making things worse, at least.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to be weird or whatever."

"Don't be sorry." She purrs contentedly. "S'not weird. S'nice."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she says. "Sorta like going to the salon, but with my bestie instead. Bestie salon."

"Hair styles by B and V?"

"Sounds awesome." Roni yawns. "We gotta get that incorporated." She stretches and one soft, smooth arm snakes across Betty's breast and flank. "We're gonna totally do that, totally. But... tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Betty says. "We'll go see Mayor McCoy in the morning. First thing."

"Coolest of the beans. Like, adzukis."

Betty smiles and then grows serious. "I just wanted you to know something, V.... I'll never hurt you."

"That's sweet," she mumbles. 'That's sweet. But... don't hurt me tomorrow. Kay? Cause I need some sleep right now."

"All right, V. Night-night. Again."

"Night." Within seconds she is softly snoring.

She means it, too. Betty means it. She will not hurt Roni--ever. She won't hurt her even if a dark voice, dark as the wig she wears on occasion to build her confidence, tells her to do it. She will not slice and peel the soft skin of Roni's cheeks back from her teeth, will not dig divots parallel to her ribs. She will neither slice into the warm, pale skin of her belly to see the color of her innards and let curious fingers slither along the slick, steaming organs disclosed nor open her throat to watch how the blood pours across her cleavage. She will not watch how it might pool in her navel or in the shadowy crevice between her legs. She must not, cannot slide the suicidally sharp point of her broach's pin into one ink-drop eye to see if the final blackness this makes of it can match the other's infinite depth. She msut not, will not, cannot do these things.

And so it's super awesome that she doesn't want to do all this awful stuff that only a totally fucked up serial killer like Luis Garavito or Wesley Allan Dodd or whoever would do. She doesn't need the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit sniffing around, right? Even if those guys on Criminal Minds are pretty hot. Besides... the voice slyly suggesting all this gruesome revelry sounds far, far too much like her mother. Because Roni is a "bad girl" and "bad girls" deserve what they get. Betty has learned that taking any advice from Alice, even if it's not insane or murderous, is a pretty terrible idea.

She doesn't want to do all this even if Roni takes Archie from her and they get married and go to New York and she never sees either of her best friends again. She wants them to be happy, after all, and if that's what it takes... well... Seh deosn't want to see Roni bleed, listen to her whimper, hold that final and most intimate power while the sparks in her eyes grow dim.

She must not, cannot, will not. And yet, she reflects while her fingers find Roni's curls again, they might find another head of dark hair again, one day. They might find the hair that transforms her into Polly. Not her sister, Polly, not Polly Cooper, not really, just... Polly. She can't explain it, but she must not, cannot, will not do these things, doesn't want to. But she knows that she could be Polly again, one day. It'll happen sooner or later, even if just for a minute or two. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but...

She must not, cannot, will not; she doesn't want to. But she knows that Polly might and it scares the shit out of her.


End file.
